


Bittersweet

by benicemurphy



Series: Murph's All Good Things fics [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bittersweet, Established Relationship, Family Feels, Fluff, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mentioned Keith's Father (Voltron), Traditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:14:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29561748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benicemurphy/pseuds/benicemurphy
Summary: As Keith, Shiro, and Krolia finally tackle the unpleasant task of boxing up Keith's father's cabin, Keith finds something that will keep his memory alive for years to come.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Series: Murph's All Good Things fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2168307
Comments: 9
Kudos: 36
Collections: Sheith Cookbook





	Bittersweet

**Author's Note:**

> The strawberry punch bowl cake in this fic is my grandmother's recipe. She died 10 years ago but she gave it to my mother, and we've been having it for Christmas Eve dinner every year for as long as I can remember. If you have All Good Things (and therefore my family recipe), I hope you enjoy it! Please know it is very close to my heart. 🍓❤️

It was never going to be easy.

Keith dreaded going through his father’s things and cleaning out the shack in the desert, but it had to be done. His only consolation was that at least he wouldn’t have to do it alone; he had a family now—Krolia, his blood, and Shiro, his heart. At first, Keith had thought that Krolia might protest Shiro’s inclusion in something so personal to their family, but she had actually been the one to suggest it before he could work up the nerve to ask.

Boxing up his dad’s things—the things he remembered being surrounded by as a child, the things that had kept him company for a long, solitary year in the desert—felt wrong, but the ache was soothed as he listened to his mother _ooh_ and _aw_ over pictures and knick-knacks that she remembered from her time on Earth, and as Shiro brushed past and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder each time he felt himself begin to choke up.

“Oh, look at this,” Krolia mused, holding up a carved wooden turtle. “Your father made it. He loved these creatures. I’ve still never seen one, but he assured me that they are delightful.”

Keith smiled. “I forgot how much he liked turtles. I always thought that was weird, since we only ever lived in the desert.”

”Says the man who loves hippos,” Shiro teased.

Krolia set down the turtle and turned curious eyes on Shiro. “What’s a hippo?”

“There are hippos at the zoo, Shiro.”

“There are turtles at the zoo, too, _Keith_.”

Keith stopped in the middle of folding one of his dad’s old t-shirts. “ _Huh_. In more than twenty years, I have never considered that.”

Shiro laughed and helped pack away the clothes Keith had already folded. “We’ll take you to the zoo sometime, Krolia. There are a bunch of amazing animals there.”

“That sounds nice,” Krolia responded with a small smile.

They lapsed into silence for a little while as all three of them set about their tasks. It was almost soothing, in a bittersweet way, to see his memories of his dad disappearing from his old home. He started a box of things they wanted to keep, so far with only the carved turtle, his dad’s favorite sweatshirt, his dad’s old leather jacket, and a hand-knit blanket so old it had holes in it, but that Keith had been attached to as a child and that he couldn’t bear to give away.

There wasn’t much to go through. The kitchen had only bare-bones cookware, and the cabinets had been empty for a long time. The living room, aside from the ratty old blanket and the now-worthless TV set, contained practically nothing. The bulk of Keith’s father’s belongings were concentrated in the single bedroom, which the two of them had shared while Keith was growing up, and even that contained very little. The last thing to go through was the desk, which Keith had been dreading the most.

“Hey,” Shiro murmured close to his ear, calm and soothing. “You doing okay?”

Keith took a deep breath and reached back to take Shiro’s hand for comfort. “Yeah. It’s just…a lot.”

“I know,” Shiro soothed with a squeeze to his hand. “But I’m here. We’re both here for you.”

Keith nodded and squeezed back. “I know.” He allowed himself another moment to breathe, then took a deep breath and pushed forward. “Okay, let’s get this done.”

There were more pictures in the top drawer, some Keith had never seen before. There were pictures of him as a baby in his crib, of his dad when he was younger, clearly taken by someone else, and even one, way at the bottom underneath the hidden drawer, of Keith in his mother’s arms, his dad’s arms around them both. With shaking hands, he retrieved a frame that had already been packed away and removed the photo occupying it to replace it with the one of his whole family. He didn’t even realize he was crying until he saw a tear splash on the glass surface of the frame.

“Baby…” Shiro whispered.

Through choked breaths, Keith asked, “Can we keep this? In the new house? On the— On the mantle or whatever?”

Shiro nodded and pulled Keith into his arms. “Of course, sweetheart. Of course.”

Keith allowed himself the vulnerability, allowed himself to take comfort from Shiro, who rubbed his back and kissed his hair and soothed him through his grief.

When he was feeling better, he put the picture away and made quick work of emptying the rest of the desk, most of which was of little interest except for a leather-bound notebook and a meager collection of recipes. Most of the recipes were either illegible or unfamiliar, but one stuck out vividly in Keith’s memory, and he gasped, struck by the joy of nostalgia.

“I remember this!”

Shiro looked over his shoulder at the little recipe cards. “What is it?”

“My dad used to make this every year for Christmas Eve.” Keith looked up at Shiro’s noise of surprise. “What?”

“Nothing, just— I thought you didn’t celebrate Christmas. You’ve never seemed excited for it since I’ve known you.”

“Oh,” Keith answered. “Yeah, I used to celebrate with my dad. I guess it just wasn’t the same after he died.”

“Well,” Krolia interjected, catching the tail end of the conversation, “I did get to celebrate one Christmas while I was on Earth—your first Christmas, actually.” She smiled at her son, sweet and tender, the expression now so natural on her face.

“Really?” Keith turned and rose to show her the recipe cards. “Did he make this?”

She grinned. “Of course. Still the best thing I ever ate on Earth, besides maybe fried chicken.”

Shiro huffed a laugh at her declaration while Keith felt himself soften.

“Do you think… I mean, I know where to get the ingredients for this, and it doesn’t seem hard to make…”

Krolia gingerly took the cards from his hand and looked over them herself. “Sure, Keith. Let’s give it a shot. What do you think, Shiro?” She arched one eyebrow in Shiro’s direction.

“Me?”

Krolia nodded. “You’re part of the family now, right? It’s only right that you join us.”

They both turned to Keith. His heart was so full, he worried his eyes would spill over again with the love he held for the two most important people in the universe.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Dad would have made this for you a long time ago.”

_______________

“What _is_ this?” Shiro asked, turning the container of red goo upside down.

Keith took the container from his hands and placed it onto the counter of the shack’s modest kitchen.

“Didn’t anybody ever teach you not to play with your food?”

“I’m not sure this strictly qualifies as food,” Shiro countered, eyeing the suspicious goo.

“Says the man whose favorite food is Garrison mess hall mac’n’cheese,” Keith groused.

Krolia pulled open the pre-packaged angel food cake and began the process of cubing it. “I always found this recipe so funny.”

Keith hummed in agreement, the corners of his lips curling into a nostalgic smile.

“Why’s that?” Shiro asked, helping Keith scoop ingredients into a bowl.

“Keith’s father was always very big on eating fresh foods—organic meat, sometimes that he had trapped or killed himself, freshly picked produce, fruits as snacks. We had a small herb garden while I lived here, and he even made his own barbecue sauce. He said the stuff from the bottle couldn’t ‘hold a candle’ to it.” The air quotes around the phrase were heavily implied. “But this recipe doesn’t use a single fresh ingredient—packaged cake, frozen strawberries, glaze that would probably survive another intergalactic war.” She shrugged. “And it was his favorite thing. Go figure.”

Keith didn’t remember in as much detail as his mother, but the memories he had of his dad making dinner usually centered around grilling something outdoors. As he got older, his dad would give him more responsibilities, like trimming the herbs or tossing the salad. He hadn’t been old enough to learn how to man the grill before his father passed away.

Beside him, Shiro chuckled, leaning against the fridge to watch as Keith combined the cake and cream. “My childhood was pretty much the opposite.”

Krolia made an inquiring sound from where she stood supervising Keith.

“Well, my parents weren’t around much when I was very young,” Shiro explained. “They both worked a lot, and we had a lot of snack foods at home so that I could grab something if I needed it. My grandparents did most of the fresh cooking. When my parents passed away and my grandparents gained custody, I started learning what it was like to get regular home-cooked meals.”

“And then you ended up at the Garrison,” Keith added.

“Yep. I only lived with them for about three years before I came here.”

“Where are they now?” Krolia asked.

There was a beat of silence before Shiro responded. “I haven’t been able to get in touch with them since we came home.” The rest was left unsaid, though it was easy to come to the implied conclusion. “They were very old before I left, though.”

Keith felt himself swallow around a sudden lump. He made a mental note to talk more with Shiro about his grandparents later, just the two of them.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Krolia offered. “Keith never knew his grandparents. I’m sorry for that, too.” The last part was directed at Keith.

Keith shrugged. “It’s okay.” In some ways it wasn’t, but he had had his dad as a kid, and he had his mom now, and Shiro, and the Blades. Somehow, he’d grown up and acquired a whole family.

They worked as a team to assemble the cake: sponge, strawberries, glaze, repeat. At the very top, Shiro arranged the leftover strawberries into the shape of a heart.

“Nerd,” Keith chided. His heart clenched. His dad had always arranged them in a circle around the edge of the cake, but Keith liked Shiro’s design just fine.

“You love me,” Shiro teased.

“I do.”

Shiro’s grin softened into something quieter, more intimate, and Keith waited as Shiro seemed to take a moment just to study him. Krolia covered the cake and stored it in the refrigerator, then quietly excused herself from the immediate vicinity.

“Thanks for humoring me with all this,” Keith murmured, eyes locked on Shiro’s.

“Anything for you,” Shiro cooed.

Keith allowed himself a moment to just look. He noted the thin lines starting to form at the corners of Shiro’s eyes. He noted the way Shiro’s scar was starting to smooth into something a little less angry, always there but mellowing with time. Mostly, he noted the way Shiro looked back at him, like he was also memorizing the lines of Keith’s face and the way the light reflected in his eyes.

“I love you so much,” Keith said, more sure of it than anything else in existence.

“I love you, too,” Shiro returned. The affection in his eyes burned.

“Thank you,” Keith whispered. His emotions were dangerously close to overflowing, teetering as they had been since they’d begun the task of cleaning out the house.

“For what?”

“Everything,” Keith said. “For being who you are. For being my family.”

“Oh, Keith,” Shiro whispered, pulling Keith into a tight hug. “I love you. I love you so much. I will always be your family. You’ve got me, always.”

Keith pulled back just far enough to tilt his chin up and catch Shiro’s lips in a kiss. They lingered there for a few more moments, then pulled away as the moment began to fade.

Krolia made her way back into the kitchen with the excuse that she needed to begin cleaning up.

“Well, I know it isn’t Christmas, but maybe we could have some people over tomorrow when the cake is ready to serve,” Krolia suggested. “What do you think, Keith?”

Keith nodded, reaching for Shiro’s hand and squeezing tightly. “That sounds nice.”

Shiro hummed and squeezed back. “And maybe we could make it again at Christmas, too.” He offered it tentatively, like he wasn’t sure how Keith might react.

“I think that’s a great idea, Shiro,” Krolia responded. “I think, if it’s possible, I’d really like to come back for that.”

Shiro looked at Keith imploringly. “Every family needs a tradition.”

Keith’s answering smile was watery and fragile, but it was the best he could offer. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s make it a family tradition.”


End file.
